Favorite Poet
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Favorite Poet
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- Robin jackson
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- Dragonflytears
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I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
** my Grandmother had given me a poetry book about friendship when I was a little girl. This poem was my favourite. I get goosebumps when I recite it. It has so much meaning...
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- Bighuey
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Atlantis
Above its domes the gulfs accumulate
Far up, the sea-gales blare their bitter screed,
But here the buried waters take no heed
Deaf, and with welded lips pressed down by weight
Of the upper ocean. Dim,interminate,
In cities over-webbed with somber weed,
Where galleons crumble and the krakens breed,
The slow tide coils through sunken court and gate.
From out of the ocean's phosphor-starry dome,
A ghostly light is dubitably shed
On alters of a goddess garlanded
With blossoms of some weird and hueless vine;
And, winged, fleet,through skies beneath the foam,
Like silent birds the sea-things dart and shine.
- AnnTylor
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-- Wed Sep 28, 2011 3:02 am --
Awesome detail of this thread....
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- Jacob
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I second that, some of my friends even like him to.AnnTylor wrote:Poet and writer - Edgar Allan Poe
- Bighuey
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I like some of Poe's poems, I never could get into The Raven but I like The Conquerer Worm and the one about the city under the sea, I dont recall the name of it.AnnTylor wrote:Poet and writer - Edgar Allan Poe
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At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
--like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.
The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river.
It was so cold we hoped that the coffee
would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.
He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds--along with the sun.
Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.
I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb--
and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee.
We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee.
A window across the river caught the sun
as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.
- Teesie
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It is Heart Touching Poem
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